Page 32 of Indigo

While running her thumb through my facial hair, she gives me that teasing smile I know all too well, and whispers, “Wise words.”

I shrug. “My therapist may have said them to me once or twice. Can’t take full credit.”

Silence passes between us as her eyes search mine. “Your dad is the one who gave you the scars, isn’t he? It was never football or random fights at the pub, or whatever story you told me at the time, was it?”

I nod, knowing now is the time for honesty, not deflection, even if it is my default setting. “Yeah. it was him.”

She runs the pad of her thumb across the jagged white line running through my lip, down to the tip of my chin. Her eyes bounce back and forth between mine, and I wait for her to move, to do something. As she leans in, her face is so close to mine that I can feel the warmth of her breath against my lips.

The tension between us as we both wait for the other to make a move is thick, heavy, but just as I decide to lean in further, a dog barks and Indie’s head jerks away from mine, searching for the source of the noise.

She chuckles to herself and looks down at her coffee, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks.

I nudge her shoulder after clearing my throat, trying to lighten the mood, and a beautiful smile forms on her face as she looks up at the morning sky. I can’t look away, and after a moment, she peers over at me from the corner of her eye, catching me staring.

“What?” she asks curiously, cocking her head a little.

I reach out, needing to touch her, and wrap a stray curl around my finger like I have a thousand times, marvelling at the softness of the strand. “You are so fucking beautiful, Blue,” I admit, the words falling from my mouth.

She looks taken aback for a moment, but then her lips pull into a wide smile, and she giggles at me while shaking her head.

“You think I’m joking?” I ask, tugging at the curl playfully.

“I think you’re crazy,” she replies, leaning her body toward mine to rest her head against my shoulder as I release her hair.

“You’re not wrong.”

-10-

INDIGO

“YOU'RE SMASHING IT,” Jagger praises from behind me as Mr Collins, the customer I just finished serving, closes the front door behind him. “I’m impressed.”

I do a little happy dance and wiggle my hips in response, and he laughs along with me.

For two weeks, I’ve spent every day at Shep Auto Repairs, Jagger breathing down my neck, and Pax lurking in the background, making sure everyone behaves themselves around me. He’s ridiculous, and so is his little brother, but now I’m well versed in basic car parts, services and the program they use.

Rounding my desk, which is made from pallets and spare tyres, as you’d expect at a garage like this, Jagger grabs a set of keys from the row of hooks we have installed by the front door. “You want to tell everyone lunch will be ready in twenty? I’m going to run out and grab a couple of chickens and a bunch of hot chips.”

He holds the door open, sending a warm breeze through the office, and I nod as I scroll through the appointment book. “Yeah, no worries.”

“If you need anything, Pax is in the back.” He winks at me, and I shake my head at the implication. “But I’m sure you already know that,” he adds, leaving before I have a chance to tell him to piss off.

The sound of laughter pulls my attention to the large window fitted between the garage and the office. Working here is like working in a gym, or what I imagine working in a gym would be like. It’s loud as hell, the floors are all grey concrete, and it smells like sweat most of the time, with a little motor oil mixed in. The mechanics are always grunting when they’re lifting tyres or trying to unscrew whatever it is that they unscrew out there, and they swear more than they don’t.

I love it.

“Bounce Back” by Big Sean blares through the speakers the moment Jagger pulls out from his parking spot. The wall muffles the sound, but as I make my way over to the door and pull it open, it intensifies.

I smile as they all dance around and lip sync, oblivious to the fact that I’m leaning against the door frame watching them.

“Guys,” I yell over the music, making them all pause and look my way.

Drew pokes his head above the bonnet of a bright red car, pauses the music on his phone and replies, “What’s up?” A little intimidating at 6’ft tall and built like a brick wall, he has dark, suntanned skin, and kind of reminds me of a Viking. His almost white hair is pulled into a braid, and from what I’ve seen, tattoos cover most of his body.

“Lunch will be ready in ten, so don’t work too hard until then,” I tease, winking at him.

“Oh, good. I’m fucking starving,” Ana calls, pulling herself out from underneath a car that looks like it’s about to fall apart from rust damage, strands from her shoulder length red hair sticking to the side of her sweaty face. She’s tiny, around my height, with glowing olive skin, and she more than holds her own against the guys in terms of skill, from what Jagger and Pax have both told me. Her grandpa restored cars his whole life, and when Ana moved to town, Shep Auto was her first stop when looking for a job. After a quick chat, she was apparently hired on the spot and has been here for a little over two years.

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